


Cute morning texts.

by skyfallat221b



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Based on Tumblr Post, F/M, Texting, clint uses emojis, natasha uses emojis, waking the other half of otp with morning texts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:21:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2489201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyfallat221b/pseuds/skyfallat221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usually, Natasha sends cute good-morning texts to Clint to which he replies angrily because it's not seven yet, fuck off. This time, however, it's the other way around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cute morning texts.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nataliasbarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nataliasbarton/gifts).



He was filthy. But, for some reason, that didn’t exactly stop him from thinking only about the mission he’d just finished with brio and the fact that he was on a jet back home from the South of France (he had to admit, the scenery was nice, but the fact that nobody (or almost) down there knew proper English sometimes threw him off enough to pull back some French basics he learnt from DuQuesne). He was going back to New York, and he was going to be able to settle down after a nice shower, and nothing meant anything more to him right now than to let Natasha know he was coming home.

Of course, Clint had thought about time-zones. It was something past 10 in the morning, which meant that back home, it was the smack middle of the night. But that honestly couldn’t phase him. He would text Natasha no matter what time and what reason, and right now, the only thing stopping him from phoning her to talk with her and hear her voice after three weeks speaking raggedy French and crappy understanding with the DGSE, was that it actually **_was_ ** 4 in the fucking morning in New York.

So, he unlocked his phone in a swift movement and swyped a quick message for Natasha, a smile creeping on his lips.

> on my way home (✿◡‿◡ฺ)  
>  see you in the morning :)

In his defense, Natasha was the only person he allowed himself to use those silly emojis with - since she was more inclined to use smiley faces than him, it had rubbed off on him. But only with her. (He would never dare text Tony with a smiley face for fear of being called out on it, but Natasha liked it a lot).

He watched his phone screen go dark as the ‘Sent √' message appeared, and put it away back into his cargo pants, feeling the delivery buzz. Frowning, he eventually shrugged, realizing that Natasha probably hadn't turned off her phone for the night because she knew he'd be done with the mission soon.

However, a couple of minutes later, as he was flying over the Atlantic ocean and frankly beginning to think more and more about getting out of this uniform and go for a goddamn shower, he felt his phone vibrate again, and he had to concentrate so as to not loose the phone as he yanked it out of his pocket to see the ‘1 new unread message’ next to Natasha’s name and profile picture. He rolled his eyes as he opened it, the attachment downloading almost instantly, and he almost barked out in laughter as he saw her middle finger raised in an artificial light created by the light of her phone.

He had to keep himself from laughing out loud for a couple of more minutes, before shutting the phone down, because 10 hours’ flights were long and painful too.

Eventually, he landed, and was allowed to skip debrieffing (mostly because he hadn’t slept in over 36 hours and he honestly felt like he could either take over the world or fail instantly falling over his own shoes) to go to Natasha’s place. But only after he went by his own flat, put down his gear, and as he sat down on the couch, he didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep before he woke up somewhere around 5 am again, with his phone’s battery signaling him it was almost out.

Pushing himself up, his eyes adjusting to the creeping dawn/darkness, he went down into the street, still fully geared up (although he left the bow and quiver at home). When he stopped at the French baker’s down on the corner of 16th Street and walked in with a gun in his holster, the owner (another French guy, couldn’t he please be left alone by these silly French people for 48 hours, _please_?!) looked like he was about to faint, but eventually Clint managed to buy two croissants, and was on his way.

He spotted a dandelion on the edge of the tarmac on the edge of the sidewalk and picked it up, placing it above his ear, finding his way up to Natasha’s building. Knocking in the access code, he ran up the stairs as quietly as he could (since it was 5 in the morning and any shenanigans would be reprimanded by the lovely little old lady on the first floor), and he locked himself into Natasha’s flat.

After a few minutes, he had the coffee machine up and running, as well as the tea soaking, and he decided that now, this was the time to shower. Stripping off his clothes, he went to the corridor and pulled out a set of fresh clothes that he knew Natasha kept in her flat at all times (more for the times where he slept over for other reasons than for these, but still), and went to shower.

Natasha woke up to the sound of the water running in her bathroom, and if it had been any other day she would’ve jolted awake and gone for the foe, but she saw Clint’s crumpled SHIELD tunic lying in the doorframe, and closed her eyes again.

*

Three days later, however, when his phoned beeped at 7 in the morning, Clint couldn’t be bothered to look at it. When it beeped the second time, he pulled his bedcovers over his head hoping it would block out the noise. And when it beeped the third time, he sighed loudly and obnoxiously as he grabbed for it blindly on his bedside table, unlocked it with half gritted eyes as he tried to not go blind by the sudden burst of light this close to his face.

> Clint, wake up.
> 
> Clint, I know you heard the phone, wake up.
> 
> If I tell you I love you, will you reply to me? (•ㅅ•)

And as he rubbed his free palm against his eyes, going to put the phone away, a fourth text came up on his screen.

> Coffee’s ready and I love you. Now come out of bed.

Rolling his eyes, he put down the phone on the bedside table, swearing to himself that he would just stay five more minutes.

But when he felt Natasha sliding under the covers to snuggle up against his warm body with her ice cold hands, just to annoy him, he knew that he’d overslept again.

"C’m’on, bird brain, coffee’s been cold three hours and you’ve slept enough for the next year. You’re going to go shower," she whispered in his ear, as she gently kissed the crook of his neck, right under his ear. "And I’ll join you later, alright?"

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for agirlofvariety on tumblr, because she saw my wall of tags on the post going "Important OTP question: which one sends cute good-morning texts and which one replies to them angrily because ‘it’s not even seven yet fuck off’?" and said she needed a fic. So here it is :)


End file.
